


Ladon

by grace_of_baal



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Hannibal is Hannibal, M/M, Murder Husbands, Protective Hannibal, inappropriately timed sex, like a prison but not really, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:19:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3266402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace_of_baal/pseuds/grace_of_baal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>One would remain alive by the end of their stay here, as their captor wished - but Hannibal could not say who that would be.</i>
</p><p>Hannibal and Will, along with several strangers, find themselves in a room with no apparent way out. They are only left with an array of killing tools and a courtesy note. The men attempt to maintain order and some semblance of human dignity, but how long can this last? As he and Hannibal are brought closer together through their ordeals, Will begins to harbour certain questions regarding his psychiatrist. And Hannibal, while at first amused by their predicament, soon grows ferociously protective of Will - his plaything, his patient, his friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> _Ladon_ is a working title. It's the name of a multiple-headed serpentine dragon in Greek mythology that guards the golden apples of Hera. Hannibal always did remind me of an otherworldly kind of creature as well as something reptilian so I tacked it on as I started writing.
> 
> I do have another work in progress that I swear I haven't abandoned, but I keep coming up with other ideas. Apparently, I really like to put Hannibal and Will through some tough times. This story includes OCs but they'll very much be background players for the dynamic duo of Hannibal/Will.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal find themselves trapped with four strangers in a concrete box. Will knows that bloodshed is inevitable but underestimates just how fragile some human beings are. Meanwhile, Hannibal sees that while problematic, their predicament could also allow for some _interesting_ moments for himself and Will.

Will was sitting next to Hannibal on the cold, hard floor, his arms propped up on his knees. His back was beginning to ache from his uncomfortable position, but he felt no desire to move. Hannibal too was perfectly still, his eyes occasionally flickering over to glance at Will. The silence was thick and overpowering and Will was unsure of how to break it. Fortunately, Hannibal did so first.

“I don’t think we've been here long,” he remarked. He had shrugged off his jacket and waistcoat earlier, also undoing his tie, leaving the clothing in a neatly folded stack in the corner next to them. His top button was undone, and a lock of hair had fallen out of place, brushing his forehead. It was as though Hannibal no longer felt a need to keep up his normally immaculate appearance.

Will agreed, “No.” However, there was no way of knowing because they were lacking in watches or clocks. Will wasn't all that curious, truth to be told. He couldn't have said when he had first awoke here, just moments after Hannibal. Was it thirty minutes or two hours ago? He had lost all sense of time, and he felt that he would rather not know.

Hannibal's head tilted slightly. “Do you have any ideas…?”

Will shook his head. “Nope. I've never seen anything like this. Are we hostages? Prisoners? And none of us are even bound...” Will looked down at his hands, then back up. There was an utter absence of whoever had put them in this place - it was just a void, devoid of personality of any kind. Will could glean nothing by staring at the concrete enclosing them, and it unsettled him deeply. “I can’t read this person at all.”

“It seems as though that was his or her intention,” said Hannibal. “The person wants us to focus elsewhere.”

This made sense to Will, not that there was much else to ‘focus’ on. The room was rectangular and entirely made of concrete, almost empty, with no door or exit in sight on any of the four walls, nor the floor and ceiling. Will estimated it to be perhaps around the size of Hannibal’s office, save for the low ceiling, seven feet high at most. There was a small pile of objects near the corner closest to them, and Will saw that they were weapons - both makeshift and not. A hammer, several kitchen knives, a screwdriver, some rusty metal poles, scissors, a _gun_... He decided to ignore this for the time being. Instead, Will turned his attention to the other unfortunate souls in the room. He and Hannibal had yet to interact with any of them. Four other men were dispersed along the walls, all exceedingly ordinary-looking - they were in street clothes except for one, who wore business attire. It was as though all of them had been snatched straight from the middle of their everyday routines, then simply dropped here.

Will was surprised to find the contents of his pockets intact save for his phone, which was nowhere to be found. He only had his wallet, FBI badge, some crime scene photos and his keys. He glanced at Hannibal, who was similarly rummaging through his possessions; he looked severely out-of-place in his rich, tailored clothes, contrasting jarringly with the dull grey wall; perhaps that was why he had stripped down to his shirt. But then again, Hannibal was not one to be self-conscious... 

For his life, Will could remember nothing of the events prior to waking up in this room. It would have been less unusual had Hannibal not claimed the same - Hannibal, who had a sharp memory and a far firmer grip on reality than Will did. Hannibal mused that they had very likely been drugged, and Will found this plausible.

One of the strangers had been screaming and shouting some time ago, starting with curses and profanities then moving onto pleas for help while hitting the walls. The others had reacted similarly subsequent to waking, but they had quickly exhausted themselves into an uneasy quiet. Will himself had been strangely calm upon finding himself here, and so had Hannibal. In all honesty to Will, this felt much less bizarre than some of the crimes he had investigated in the past.

“Hey,” a hesitant voice rang through the room, echoing weirdly against the concrete. Will looked for its owner - it was the man in the suit. “There’s something here,” he said, “a note.”

“What does it say?” asked Will, warily approaching the other side of the room. He had intended to keep away from the others until he had a better grasp of the situation, but realized that there was little more he could investigate.

The man read out loud, “ _Only one of you can remain standing. Survival of the fittest_.”

“That’s all it says?” One of the others said, his voice high and unsteady. Will felt a pang of pity - this man was very young, probably even still in school.

“Yes.” Upon getting closer, Will could see that the note was typed. Both the words and presentation of the thing were very cliched, thought Will, but he couldn't deny its ominous effectiveness.

The two remaining strangers were also approaching. “ _Fuck_ ,” the taller one uttered. “What the _fuck_.”

Whoever was behind this favoured brutal simplicity over theatrics and elegance, the opposite of someone like the Chesapeake Ripper.

“Look, if we’re want to get through this, we've got to do it together,” said the man in the suit. “We should get to know each other.”

“Are you kidding?” The tall man said incredulously. “I really don’t think-”

“Why not. We have time to kill,” muttered the one standing close to him. Will guessed that they already knew each other. He decided not to comment, and he saw a barely perceptible smile ghost across Hannibal’s face.

Will would also have found it comical, had their circumstances been less dire - it was as if they were back in grade school. The men, arranged in an uneasily haphazard circle, each introduced themselves. Will observed every one of his fellow prisoners carefully. First there was Matthias - slight, unassuming and a tightly wound bundle of nerves - this was the young one Will had noticed earlier. Jamie, the one in the business suit, was a pleasant enough man, looking to be in his late twenties or thirties. Conrad, the tall one, was masking his fear with an air of forced confidence. Nolan, who stood close to him, was dark and wordless.

The circle at last came to Hannibal and Will.

“I’m Will.” They gave Will little response, exactly as they had for everyone else. Only Jamie made an attempt at a smile in his direction, and Will detected no insincerity in the gesture.

“Hannibal,” said Hannibal.

No one replied except for Conrad, who gave a loud, nervous snicker. “Hannibal? What kind of parents name their kid that in this day and age?” Will remembered Hannibal once telling him that he was an orphan. He could feel the psychiatrist’s displeasure ripple through the air like a physical force, understandably, but Conrad seemed to take no notice. Hannibal stayed quiet, leaving Conrad’s laughter to fade into the awkward silence.

“Does anyone remember how you got here?” Will pressed to avoid any further conflict. He was answered by a low murmuring, confirming his expectations. “Any of you know each other?”

“We’re brothers,” Conrad said, jerking a thumb back to Nolan. Jamie and Matthias shook their heads. “And you two?” There was a slight sneer in the question, as if daring them to answer.

Hannibal replied coolly, “We’re acquainted.” Will could feel the four strangers eyeing them, no doubt in an attempt to pick apart their relationship. He hardly wished to tell them that Hannibal was his psychiatrist, and was glad Hannibal chose to be vague.

“So what are we going to do?” Matthias said. He was still visibly anxious, constantly fiddling with his hands and adjusting his glasses.

“Don’t see anything we can do,” muttered Nolan.

Matthias clenched his jaw. “So we’re just going to sit here and starve? There must be something, some way...”

Conrad just shrugged, falsely nonchalant. “Well, let us know if you come up with a brilliant plan.”

Eyes went to the pile of weapons, but no one had the courage to mention it. Even Hannibal said nothing, but his quietness was more ponderous than fearful.

Will watched the circle disperse as quickly as it had come together; the meeting was clearly over. He exchanged a glance with Hannibal as they returned to their original spots by the wall. Will agreed with Nolan. They had very few options at the moment - they could let themselves wither and die, or…

“Are you all right, Will?” Hannibal’s low voice made Will look up.

“Dr. -”

Hannibal cut him off. “Call me Hannibal. We needn't diverge more information than necessary, and we’re no longer in a professional setting.”

“All right,” said Will, who couldn't help but wonder about the possible implications of this new arrangement. “Hannibal. What do you think?” Will had hesitated, but he liked the how name felt on his tongue.

“We can almost say for certain that there isn't a way out of this room, other than the door over there -” Hannibal gestured toward the outline in the concrete that Will had also noticed on a quick walk around the room - “which clearly cannot be opened from this side. No food or water have been provided, so we're not meant to stay for long. We're fully expected to massacre one another sooner or later.”

Will had come to the same grim conclusion. “There’s nothing we can do, unless we try and drill our way out, or something..."

“There’s always something we can do,” said Hannibal, “and this is no exception.”

Will frowned. “I’m not going to kill anyone, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“Merely a reminder that you still have a choice. You’re fully aware that it’s only a matter of time before the others begin to consider the option.” Will was indeed hyper-aware of this fact. _And what about us?_ Will didn't say this out loud, for there was no chance Hannibal hadn't mulled over it already. _Only one can remain_.

“I suppose there’s nothing to do but wait for now,” said Will.

“Yes.”

Will sat and occasionally walked around the room, feeling profoundly helpless. His mind was curiously empty; there was little to think about. The puzzle was so infuriatingly  _simple -_ but at the same time, so impossibly complex. Will didn't know what to _do_. He was unsure of his own capabilities and limits. How far could he go to save himself? To save others? For Hannibal? When would he finally break?

Low voices sparsely peppered the suffocating silence, but Will had no urge to speak, not even to Hannibal. The psychiatrist remained in one spot on the floor, his legs crossed and back against the wall, eyes half-closed. Will could tell he wasn't sleeping, but he wasn't fully _here_ either. He let Hannibal be. Despite all the people in the room with him, loneliness was crushing Will. It would be foolish to become emotionally attached to anyone else here, and he supposed that this was a clever move on the part of their captor. Will looked at Hannibal, his stomach clenching as he did so. _What if I'm already attached? What do I do then?_  Conrad and Nolan faced the same choice. To Will, this seemed somehow crueller than many of the crimes he had witnessed working in the FBI.

* * *

It seemed to Will that the room was gradually getting smaller, the walls slowly closing in on them. He had no indication of how much time had passed other than his own bodily signals, which weren't terribly reliable as of late - his appetite was poor and he was perpetually tired. Hannibal's advice to take better care of himself proved to be difficult to follow when Jack Crawford was working him like a dog.

He could tell the men were growing increasingly restless, however. The conversation had waned entirely a while ago, and each man seemed lost in his own world. Conrad and Jamie tended to pace while Matthias and Nolan were very still, almost unsettlingly so. Hannibal hadn't moved from his earlier position on the floor, and Will wondered what could be going through his head.

All the while, the weapon pile sat off to the side, seemingly mocking them.

Will heard an unfamiliar racket and looked around the room for its source. Matthias too had discovered the shape of the door in the wall, and was attacking its outline with a small pocketknife. Will could instantly tell that it was a ridiculous, pointless endavour, but Matthias didn't seem to realize this. Again, it was Jamie who tried to intervene, putting his hand on Matthias' back in a reassuring manner.

"I want to get out of here.” Matthias turned and said, his voice hoarse.

Conrad said bitterly from the floor, “So do the rest of us.”

“You don’t understand - my mother - “

“You think the rest of us don’t have families and lives? Calm down.”

Matthias moaned. “No…”

"Shut up." Conrad's voice rose. "You're not fucking  _helping_."

“Matthias, calm down, man -” Matthias ignored Jamie and wrestled free from his grasp. The young man’s eyes were glazed over in terror and desperation. Alarm bells were going off in Will's head at this. Danger was imminent, but to whom exactly?

“ _I don’t want to die here!_ ”

Why had Matthias chosen to target Will? Perhaps he was the least physically intimidating out of the group, and Matthias would have changed his mind had he known Will was a trained federal agent. Perhaps it was out of some misplaced first impression of him. Will would never know, and frankly did not care.

Will, still half-on his hands and knees, scrambled for the weapon pile. He didn't fully make it there before Matthias was upon him, screaming all the while, the knife poised for Will’s face. The only thing keeping the blade from plunging into Will was his arm strength, which had its limits. Conrad and Nolan had stood up, their faces masks of shock. Hannibal and Jamie were already only feet away from Matthias, but the latter was clearly hesitating because of the knife. Will was only a stranger to him, not worth risking his life for, and it was unlikely he had previous exposure to confrontations like this. Will felt little resentment towards Jamie; he could hardly expect the same from a civilian as he did from himself.

Hannibal was trying to restrain Matthias from behind, but adrenaline was making the smaller man much stronger than he looked. Matthias was beyond reasoning by now. He wanted to live, and it was becoming very quickly apparent that the only way to do that was to kill. Will, with one hand, stretched for anything even remotely resembling a weapon. It was then Matthias managed to catch Hannibal in the stomach with his elbow, making him grunt and lose his grip. Will’s fingers touched something metallic. There was no chance to hesitate. Hoping it was a sharp instrument of some kind, Will gripped the object and swung inwards.

He felt the scissors embed itself deeply in flesh, entering at the side of the neck. Matthias’ scream was drowned out by gurgles, and his remaining momentum caused him to collapse on top of Will, dribbling blood onto his face and front. Will choked at the metallic stickiness that had found its way into his mouth, and struggled to push the twitching body off of him. Red splotches were covering his glasses and obscuring his vision.

Will lay where he was for several long moments, his slick hands trembling uncontrollably. Matthias continued to ooze blood onto him, but Will couldn't find the strength to move. He was hardly breathing, the air feeling thick and solid in his lungs like ice. His brain was struggling to wrap itself around what had happened only seconds ago.

A firm, warm touch on his shoulder. Will’s head jerked up; it was Hannibal.

"Jesus," Will whispered. "I just _killed_ him."

"Will,” Hannibal said quietly.

The other men had returned to their corners and were watching furtively, in frozen horror, but Will didn't care. Hannibal dragged Matthias off and knelt next to Will, obviously looking him over for any sign of injury.

“I’m fine,” Will insisted, but his voice was feeble. He let Hannibal’s arm wrap around his shoulders and gently pull him to his feet. The larger man steered Will away from Matthias’ corpse and to an unoccupied space in the room, then gestured for him to sit against the wall. Will obeyed, and Hannibal followed suit, taking the spot next to him.

Without asking, Hannibal leaned in and pulled the glasses from Will’s face, proceeding to clean the blood from it with a handkerchief he had produced from his pocket. Will muttered a ‘thanks’, but didn't put his glasses back on. He wiped the stickiness from his face with his sleeve. No matter how often he encountered blood on the job, Will found it difficult to get used to its texture and metallic tang, its rusty colour. 

After an indeterminate amount of time had passed, Will stood up and went to Matthias’ body, feeling the eyes of the other men on his back. He knelt and went through the dead man's pockets, refusing to look at the scissors protruding from the neck. There was nothing particularly useful inside - only a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a wallet. Will discarded the latter without giving it so much a glance, but brought the other two items back with him. He sat next to Hannibal and set the small box and lighter down in front of them. Hannibal reached forward and picked up the cigarettes, his eyes skimming the contents printed on it.

“I haven’t smoked since I was in college,” said Will with a hollow chuckle.

Hannibal smiled back, his eyes briefly meeting Will’s. “Neither have I.”

“Really.” Will couldn't be sure of whether or not Hannibal was being truthful, or simply going along with the conversation. Either way, it was somehow amusing to him.

“Yes. France had its fair share of smokers when I lived there as a student. I believe in maintaining myself physically, and tobacco is counterproductive in that respect.” He opened the pack and saw that there was only one cigarette left. He pulled it out and handed it to Will, saying, “But now, I suppose it hardly matters.”

“I didn't think I’d hear something like that from you,” said Will, accepting the cigarette and lighting it. He didn't enjoy smoking, but he had to admit that it felt better to have something other than the taste of blood in his mouth.

“I’m simply being realistic,” Hannibal replied.

It occurred to Will that there was limited ventilation in the room. Perhaps smoking would be unwise. Fortunately, it seemed as though that everyone, including himself, was beyond complaining about such petty matters now.

Will handed the cigarette to Hannibal, who took a deep draught from it.

“He was completely innocent,” Will said at last, his voice low. “It wasn't his fault.”

“It wasn't yours, either,” said Hannibal, exhaling smoke, “and there was nothing else you could do.”

Will cast his eyes downward. “I didn't want to let this happen. I thought we would be able to hold out for longer.”

“Someone had to break first.” After tapping the ashes off onto the floor, Hannibal gave the cigarette back to Will.

"I felt like I could have stopped it. Like I should have."

"You owe these people nothing, Will," Hannibal said, "and neither do they to you. Things will only get worse from now - we are all on equal ground in this place. You are no FBI; I’m not a doctor. You must understand."

" _I do_." It came out louder than Will had intended, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jamie jump. Sighing deeply, he added, "It's not making it any easier."

"I know." They fell into silence once more, each taking several more turns with the tobacco.

The chill hanging in the air was almost unbearable, and Will shivered, despite the heat still rushing through his veins. Will recognized this - the coldness of death, of killing. He knew Nolan, Conrad and Jamie too would feel it. And Hannibal, although the psychiatrist's demeanor had not outwardly changed. "Hannibal?"

"Yes?"

"Do you..." Will hesitated. "Do you think we’re going to die here?"

His eyes wandered from Will's and towards the other men, who weren't bothering to conceal their gazes. "I don't know, Will."

Will pressed his lips together and snubbed out the cigarette on the floor. All of his strength seemed to leave him at once, and without much thought, he shuffled closer and leaned his head on Hannibal's shoulder. He was so tired. Will detected the faintest hint of surprise as the psychiatrist's head turned to look at him, but neither of them said a word.

* * *

Hannibal glanced at Matthias' corpse with indifference. The boy had broken down incredibly quickly. It would have been a shame indeed had Will been killed by such an insignificant being, so Hannibal was more or less satisfied by his death. What he had truly enjoyed was seeing Will fatally stabbing the younger man - and with _such_ conviction. Will was willing to do what was necessary to survive, and at that, something like pride had leapt up within Hannibal.

Will was leaning on his shoulder. Hannibal let him, despite the blood matting the younger man’s hair and clothes, some of which had rubbed off on his own shirt. At least his suit jacket and waistcoat were still clean, thought Hannibal; he had only recently purchased the set and had intended to wear them for years to come. It was difficult to discern whether Will was sleeping or not, but his breathing was steady. Hannibal felt no urge to sleep himself. He surveyed his prison and the remaining men inside it, calculating. He felt their gazes on him and Will. None of them were at all remarkable to Hannibal, if he ignored Conrad’s remarkable rudeness, that was. The man was nothing more than a terrified fool, and the beast within Hannibal was already thirsting for his blood. _No, not yet_. He must wait for a more opportune moment.

Hannibal stroked Will's arm, and if he was awake, the younger man didn't protest. Hannibal heeded the other prisoners no attention, as he couldn't care less about their judgement. With his other hand, he fingered the scalpel he kept in his pocket, precisely for emergencies such as this. The metal was soothingly cool on his fingertips. He wondered whose blood it would get a taste of first here.

Soon, he closed his eyes and sank back into the refuge of his memory palace. Its decadent interior seemed even richer than usual, after all the time spent surrounded by this drab concrete. How long exactly? He could track the minutes and seconds well enough internally, but it was unneeded for this situation. They had been given no deadline. Everything depended on their own bodily and mental limits - hunger, thirst, fatigue, _tedium_. Of course, Hannibal could keep himself entertained for as long as needed with only his own brain for company, but this was not true for most others. If fear didn't force these men into action first, the utter boredom surely would.

Hannibal spent little energy attempting to decipher their situation. It didn't matter to him who put them here, how or why. It was certainly an intriguing premise, although not particularly creative; even he couldn't entirely predict exactly how events would play out. While some human beings were easier to read, like Conrad or Matthias, others were erratic at best, like Will Graham. Hannibal found the latter far more interesting. They allowed for such _exciting_ possibilities.

However, like the late Matthias, he had no desire to die somewhere like this, nor for Will to - unless a compelling reason for it to happen presented itself, that was. He only knew one thing for certain. One would remain alive by the end of their stay here, as their captor wished - but Hannibal could not say who that would be.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from bad to worse. Hannibal takes care of Will and Will returns the favour. Will receives a jarring reminder of how much Hannibal means to him, but also notices something unsettling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments! They seriously make my day. 
> 
> Uh, this might get considerably less 'fun' than I'd initially thought. Or more, depending on your tastes. (no pun intended)

Their corner of the room still smelled of cigarette smoke, and Will much preferred it to the scent of blood. The latter seemed to have seeped into his very being, wafting from him, and it didn't help that there was nothing he could clean himself with. Hannibal and Jamie had moved Matthias to the other end of the room, but the young man kept appearing on the back of Will's eyelids whenever he shut them. Still, he was tired, and intended to take a nap sooner or later. It was tempting for him to sleep as he was right now, leaning against Hannibal's shoulder, but that would inconvenience the psychiatrist. Will knew what that was like - more than once his larger dogs had laid on top of him while he was reading or relaxing at home, and he wouldn't have the heart to push it off until it woke up.

However, he couldn't commit himself to sleep while Conrad was handling the gun. Will eyed him apprehensively. After what happened to Matthias, he wasn't about to take any chances, and he felt Hannibal stiffen next to him in the same way. Conrad seemed sane for the time being but one could never be sure, thought Will.

There was a click as Conrad unloaded the gun, peering at the magazine. “There’re only three bullets in this thing,” he grumbled. To the collective relief of everyone watching, Conrad set the weapon back down, but Will noticed that he loaded it again before he did so. 

“We’re not going to be using it,” Jamie said.

“I was just thinking that I’d love to shoot the fucker who put us in here if he decides to pay us a visit.” Will caught himself thinking that he wouldn't mind that, either. "But you've got to get real, here. Someone just died. He won't be the last one to, and I can guarantee you that yes, this gun is definitely going to be used."

Jamie's mouth turned down in a frown, and he didn't reply. Will hoped that Conrad was wrong, but he knew he was being naive. 

"Whatever, I'm going to sleep for a while," Conrad declared into the silence. Will said the same thing to Hannibal, and lay on his back on the floor. He ended up bringing his knees towards his chest and pillowing his head with his arm. Sleep came more easily than he'd expected, with Hannibal's comforting aura near him. 

* * *

Conrad was dozing in his corner, snoring quietly. Nolan sat not far away, while Jamie was pacing around on the other side of the room. Hannibal noticed that Nolan was incessantly tapping his foot on the floor, a tic that hadn't been present earlier. The room was reeking of fear, blood and sweat. Foul as it was, Hannibal appreciated its raw, human quality. 

Will was also asleep, curled up on the floor like Hannibal imagined he would between his dogs at home. Hannibal had assured him that he would keep alert for any danger, to which Will seemed apologetic, but he had gone to sleep nevertheless. Hannibal was walking around in his palace, admiring the artwork and reliving some of his fonder memories, wonderful sights, scents, sounds and tastes. He was interrupted when he heard and smelled another man approaching - Hannibal immediately identified him as Nolan. The scent of anxiety wafted from him. Hannibal kept his eyes partially shut.

"If I were you I'd go right back where you came." Hannibal said without warning, letting the danger permeate his voice. Nolan hesitated. Still, after a moment he continued forward, and opening his eyes, Hannibal saw that the man was holding a hammer. _An interesting choice_. It was evident that Nolan was focused on Will for whatever irrelevant reason. Because he had killed Matthias? Because he looked so vulnerable, like a defenseless lamb on the ground? Nolan wasn't telling. Hannibal imagined the brute bludgeoning Will's skull in with the hammer, and felt a twinge of irritation. _No, that won’t do_.

He was on his feet in a flash, putting himself between Will and Nolan. He prided himself on his agility and athletic prowess, and they were essential skills for his line of work. They served him well now. Before Nolan had a chance to react, Hannibal's hand lashed out, as quickly as a striking snake, catching him by the arm. Nolan tried to retaliate with his free hand but Hannibal slammed him against the wall by the throat, making him splutter and croak.

Hannibal said, "Make one more move and I fracture your wrist, then crush your trachea. You wouldn't want that, would you, now?" He twisted and tightened his grip precisely enough to demonstrate. The hammer dropped, and Nolan's eyes widened in fear, a high wheezing noise escaping him. Hannibal leaned in and hissed, "If you touch him,  _I will kill you._ " Hannibal looked over Nolan’s shoulder to check that Conrad was still asleep. He released Nolan and shoved him back with so much force that the man stumbled and landed on his behind. He kicked the hammer back to Nolan, mockingly. 

Jamie and Nolan were both staring in Hannibal's direction with a mixture of fear and awe. 

Jamie started talking, but Hannibal had already shut the strangers out. He had no desire to deal with them, and with a small sigh, he sat back down. Will was stirring, and Hannibal put a hand on his shoulder. He smirked slightly; Will must have been truly exhausted to have slept through what just transpired. It was the same for Conrad, conveniently. 

Will, turning over, murmured, "Did I miss something?"

"No, not at all," Hannibal replied evenly.

"If you say so," said Will, sitting up with a soft groan and rubbing where his shoulder had been pressed to the hard floor. "How long have I been asleep?"

"I don't know, but not long."

"You sure you don't feel like taking a nap?" Will was genuinely concerned.

Hannibal smiled. "No, not now, but I appreciate the thought. Thank you, Will."

* * *

Hannibal had finally gotten up from his spot to take a walk around the room, at an almost leisurely pace. It was then Jamie approached Will, and he was inwardly amused that Hannibal was apparently so intimidating to the stranger. _You haven't seen him in his office_ , thought Will with a private smile. He recalled the first time he had walked into therapy, being overwhelmed by everything about the space including the man occupying it. How quickly the office became something of a refuge for him, how he found himself telling Hannibal things he would have never imagined being able to tell anyone... They seemed like memories from a lifetime ago, now. Will missed seeing Hannibal's bookshelves in place of these dull concrete walls, even though they were filled with tomes whose titles Will couldn't even begin to decipher.

“Hey,” Jamie said hesitantly, breaking Will's chain of thought.

Will tried to be friendly, but he was wary, and frankly, he had a very low reserve of energy to expend. “Hello.”

“Can I sit?”

Will considered turning him away but decided against it. He didn't feel he had the capacity for coming up with the right words at the moment. “Yeah.”

“I just wanted to talk. We've got too much time on our hands.” Jamie’s smile was strained, but Will appreciated the effort.

“Mhm.”

“Will, right? You and Hannibal seem to be close friends.”

“I guess you can say that,” Will shrugged. He wondered for a moment if he believed it himself. He wasn't quite sure how to define their relationship, but he preferred 'friends' to 'patient and doctor'.

“Where do you work?”

“The government. And you?” Will asked for politeness' sake - Hannibal's insistence on common courtesy must have rubbed off on him without him even noticing. 

“I’m just an office worker.” Jamie took something out of his pocket and showed it to Will. It was a family photograph, with Jamie and a young woman holding a toddler between them. “My wife and daughter.” Will didn't know how to respond, but the other man seemed to understand. “It’s fine. We’re all in the same boat. You must have people you care about outside, too.”

 _What if they're not outside but in here with me? No, not the 'same boat'._  “I’m sorry,” Will said. “I’m not married…”

“How about Hannibal?”

“No.” Jamie would take whatever he was inclined to from this.

“What does he do?”

After a moment's consideration, Will answered, "He's a psychiatrist." There was little point in lying now, and it was an innocuous enough piece of information.

“Ah, I see." There was a strange note to his voice but Will didn't comment. Jamie fell silent for a moment. Then, he ventured, "What do you make of all... this?"

"I have no idea," said Will truthfully. 

"You think we're all going to die?"

"Quite possibly." 

Jamie cocked his head. "You seem awfully calm about it."

"I figured there's not a whole lot we can do. I've given it a lot of thought..." Will paused. "I'm not afraid of dying."

"And Matthias..."

"He's not the first man I've killed," Will said before he could think better of it. 

"What?"

"I used to be a cop." Which was, to Will's credit, perfectly true.

"Oh... I did think there was something different about you. And Hannibal, too. I guess he must have seen all sorts of strange patients through his career, no?"

"Yeah." _Including me._

They talked more, and Will was surprised by how much he came to enjoy the conversation once they moved away from more personal topics. Jamie too was a dog-lover and apparently owned a large Saint Bernard, but also two cats and a rabbit. He was from the west coast and now lived in suburban Baltimore. Will wondered if the other men were also from the area - but he wasn't about to ask them, nor did he think it was possible to profile the criminal who put them here. 

Will had been describing to Jamie how he had found Winston when he felt a presence over him - he looked up to see Nolan. 

"So what makes you so special, pretty boy?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Will's brow furrowed as he slowly got to his feet, and he saw Jamie following suit. Nolan was significantly taller than both of them and Will found himself looking up to see his face.

"First you murder somebody and then hide behind your bodyguard?"

"What are you saying?" Will was becoming agitated, and Jamie was trying to break the pair apart. Nolan growled and pushed him out of the way, making him gasp and stumble back.

Will was grabbed by the throat. 

* * *

Hannibal's eyes flickered up at the commotion. His lips pursed at the sight of Nolan towering over Will; a second later, Nolan had the smaller man around the throat. 

And so he forced Hannibal's hand.

Hannibal walked up to Nolan from behind and politely tapped him on the back. “Please, don't touch him.” 

A shadow of anxiety fell over Nolan’s face as he turned around, but he still refused to let go of Will.

“Hannibal, you don’t have to do this,” Will gurgled out, almost pleadingly. Hannibal scanned Nolan for weapons, but he seemed unarmed for the time being. Tension was coiling in Hannibal's muscles, anticipatory. His voice betrayed none of this.

“Of course I do. You’re my friend and I feel obliged to protect you.”

Nolan’s response was to strike Will across the face, nearly knocking him from his feet, and then driving a knee into his midsection. Hannibal heard Will choke, and something resembling anger flared up within him, white-hot, possibly disproportionately so.

From behind, Hannibal heard Jamie’s voice. “Will!”

“I won’t let anyone treat Will that way.” Hannibal’s words were icy and carefully controlled, the calm before the storm that Nolan didn't know was coming.

Conrad was waking now, still looking drowsy, but his eyes snapped open as soon as he saw what was happening. "Nolan, what the fuck are you doing?"

Hannibal grabbed Nolan by the shoulders and yanked him away from Will, who was doubled up against the wall, gasping for air. 

Will suddenly yelled, “He has a gun -”

The firearm was the same one that Conrad had been holding earlier, the one from the stash of weapons. When Nolan had managed to pocket it, Hannibal couldn't say.  _Three bullets_. Before he could fire, Hannibal tackled him, and they ended up in a tangle of limbs on the floor. The gun went off once, twice, and then pain exploded in Hannibal's right hand. It had caught him off-guard and he sucked in air through clenched teeth, but he recovered quickly as always.  _Nothing major; focus, now_. The gun. The gun needed to be taken care of.

Hannibal slammed a knee down into Nolan’s forearm, effectively pinning it down, and then wrested the gun from his weakened grasp. He tossed it to one side. At this range, effective shooting would be impossible and the risk of ricochet injuries was too great. Besides, Hannibal much preferred to use his hands for tasks such as this. Nolan convulsed violently and they rolled once, Hannibal coming up on top, keeping Nolan more or less immobilized with his full weight. They were close to the weapon pile, and Hannibal lunged towards it, snatching up the first instrument that came into his uninjured hand - a kitchen knife.  _How ironic_.

Nolan was charging towards him again, this time wielding his own knife. With no hesitation Hannibal swung with his, the metal burying itself under the collar bone. Nolan cried out but still tried to bring Hannibal down with him, which he half-succeeded in doing. They were again on the floor and Nolan tried to hack at Hannibal with the knife. Hannibal straddled Nolan. Before he plunged the blade in for a second time, Hannibal allowed a smile to briefly curl the corner of his mouth, and relished the look of horror that spread across the Nolan’s face. His back was to the rest of the room and only Nolan was treated to the view.

“Please…” The man whispered, hardly audible. They locked eyes. This was no doubt Hannibal's most savoured moment during any kill. The moment when his victims began to realize what he truly was - not that anyone could ever fully grasp the full extent of his nature. No one... at least as of now. 

“ _Don’t you dare, you bastard_  -” Conrad’s screams were little more than background static to Hannibal, his attention fixed entirely on the victim in front of him. No matter the circumstances of murder, singular focus was necessary. With his precision, strength and anatomical knowledge, Hannibal estimated only a few well-placed stabs would be sufficient to neutralize his opponent, even with his left hand. He struck several more times than needed, masking his expertise in killing for those watching. The gore splattered messily, and Hannibal licked some of it from his lips. He was a sophisticated man, but there were often times when he craved the carnal thrill of tasting freshly spilled blood. He left the knife in Nolan’s chest, probably in one of the lungs, which were still valiantly struggling for air.

“Oh my god...” He heard Jamie say.

“ _Nolan!_ ” Hannibal turned at the roar behind him to see Will attempting to hold Conrad back from charging forward, but the other man was much larger. Breaking free, Conrad was upon Hannibal in a split second, eyes wild. “ _You - fucking - killed - my - brother -_ ”

Conrad grabbed a fistful of his collar and Hannibal rolled with the blows as they came, minimizing damage as best as he could. He had come to the decision that tearing Conrad apart now would be unwise. He would bide his time, and meanwhile, he would have to endure this  _unrefined_  beating. He let Conrad pummel him to the floor, curling in on himself to protect his vitals. Conveniently, it would also appear as a show of weakness to the others.

Only Will and Jamie’s combined might was able to pull Conrad off of Hannibal, who staggered upright and appropriately wheezed for air. Blood was coating his teeth and thought he could feel some coming from his nose. Despite the aches in various parts of his body, Hannibal quickly determined that all of his bones seemed intact; there was still the problem of his hand, however. It was difficult to gauge the full extent of damage, but the pain was considerable and bleeding copious.

Will and Jamie were still holding Conrad around the chest, and Hannibal saw that he was now sobbing. Pathetic thing. The man dropped to his knees before Nolan and took one of his limp hands, clutching it close to himself, crying louder now. Will cast a pained glance at the brothers before hurrying to Hannibal, while Jamie stood uncertainly between the two pairs.  _Will, ever so empathetic_. Hannibal sat heavily on the floor, and despite himself, he did feel rather drained. How he detested the limits the human body set for him, insurmountable no matter how honed a specimen he was.

“Hannibal, your hand.” 

“Ah,” said Hannibal quietly, feigning shock. He quickened his breathing, let himself shake as if from trauma. 

“ _Shit_ ," Will knelt next to him, and took him by the wrist. Hannibal's eyebrow raised at the language. Will ignored him and said, “This... looks pretty bad.” His voice had a slight tremor to it that Hannibal didn't fail to pick up. He only half-agreed with Will. His hand was throbbing steadily, in time with his now-slowing pulse. The shot had taken off little more than the tip of the small finger - but there was so much blood, and Hannibal acknowledged that this could be a problem in their current circumstances.

“It’s nothing life-threatening, but hand wounds tend to bleed heavily… I take it we weren't provided with first-aid equipment.”

Will choked out a forced laugh. “No, I don’t think so. God dammit,” he said through gritted teeth as he fished inside his pockets. Presumably in vain, as Hannibal thought it unlikely that anything would have magically materialized inside since they had last checked. “I don’t have anything on me.”

“My pocket square,” said Hannibal.

Will waved over Jamie, who Hannibal had observed was still standing behind them, frozen. “Jamie, please help.”

“W-what… what can I do?”

“Get me Hannibal’s pocket square, it should be in his jacket.”

Jamie came back and handed Will the fabric, his arm shaking. “Here.”

Will pulled his sweater off and used it to mop away some of the blood. Hannibal let his jaw to clench naturally at the touch, though pain was not something he allowed himself to be deterred by. “Just keep putting pressure on it, please,” he murmured, and Will did as told. For several minutes, he held the sweater tightly around the hand. Hannibal noticed that Will was very pale.

“Are you all right, Will?” He asked with a tilt of the head.

Will said in exasperation, “Christ. You’re kidding. Are you really worrying about me right now?”

“Is that really so strange?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” said Will, rubbing his lip, which was beginning to swell, Hannibal saw. “But you…”

“Honestly… I expected him to do much more than this.”

“Which one?”

“Both of them.” Together, Hannibal and Will looked to the brothers in question, one quite dead and the other grieving for him. Hannibal felt the slightest pang of hunger at the sight of Nolan's body, but he figured he had damaged the organs too much in the fight to eat anyway. _A real shame_. 

* * *

Hannibal was watching Will intently as he bound his hand, using the pocket square to fashion a makeshift bandage. Will's own fingers were slippery with blood again by the time he was done, and it was the most he could do to wipe them off on his pants. 

“I didn't mean to kill him,” said Hannibal quietly, his eyes distant.

“Do you need me to tell you what you told me?” Will sighed. “You had no other choice. If you hadn’t, he would have done the same to you.”

“I know.”

“What’s done is done…”

Will’s gaze lingered on Hannibal’s hand, now swathed in the pocket square. Nothing life-threatening, Hannibal had said. He was right, of course. But Will's stomach still churned at sight of the wound. He had seen that the bullet had blown a good part of the finger off. It was a  _mutilation_. It would permanently disturb Hannibal's impeccably polished exterior, which was something Will had learned to take a certain comfort in, despite its alienness at first. Hannibal should be infallible, untouchable, groomed to perfection as he always was. With his hair in a disarray and blood staining him everywhere, Hannibal looked so far removed from the stoic psychiatrist Will came to know. More like a caged and battered beast, truth to be told - like everyone else in this room, including himself.

Hannibal swallowed. "I suppose you're right, Will." 

Will looked down at his hands, loosely clasped in his lap. "If we both die here..." Will began, but Hannibal interrupted him. He leaned in close, so close that their foreheads were nearly touching, making the words stick in Will's throat - then he tilted his head and kissed Will in the mouth, unsurprisingly tender, almost cautious yet with his typical self-confidence. Will felt Hannibal’s nose brush against his cheek, and noticed that the other man’s lips were slightly chapped, as his own would probably be. His eyes widened, a dozen thoughts leaping into his head at once.

 _I... we shouldn't.._.

 _Why not?_  He asked himself in turn. As he had just been telling Hannibal, they were unlikely to escape from this place. In one way or another, they would perish... unless one of them was prepared to do the unthinkable. Cold fear for Hannibal had settled in Will’s stomach since the scuffle with Nolan and Conrad. It had forced Will to acknowledge that Hannibal was just as likely to die as anyone else here. And Hannibal had risked himself to protect Will - it only made the profiler feel the distress even more poignantly. What were they going to do? If they somehow managed to be the last ones standing, what would they do?

Coherent thought faded from his mind as Will lost himself to the kiss, his eyes closing, heart hammering hard. His hand curled subconsciously around Hannibal’s head, his fingers burying themselves in the sandy, matted hair. Hannibal’s mouth tasted salty from blood. Will’s bruised lip burned as it crushed against Hannibal’s, but he didn't mind. For a moment, he forgot the other men in the room entirely - Jamie, Conrad, and even Nolan’s dead body, sprawled some way away, and Matthias, already cold and stiff. The situation was absurd enough as it was, and somehow, locking lips with his psychiatrist was a tame notion to Will now.

When Hannibal pulled back, Will was breathing quickly. The heat that had risen to his face; he couldn't tear his eyes away from Hannibal's, dark and seemingly bottomless, ever so full of affection. Will had always noticed the way Hannibal looked at him - with a certain, subdued warmth - but right now, with no more professional boundaries to cross, it was amplified tenfold. It was overwhelming for Will to be its object.

"If we die here, it would be unfortunate indeed. However," Hannibal said, running a thumb along Will’s jaw, “sharing my final moments with you would make it more bearable.”

“Hannibal, I…” Will had to pause for breath. His chest felt tight, but not unpleasantly. “I... I feel the same way.”

“Good.” Hannibal smiled fully, the expression reaching his eyes, and despite the blood and the contusions already forming on his face, he had never looked younger to Will. It pained him to see this side of Hannibal only now, presumably very close to their demise.

Will glanced out at the rest of the room. No one was paying them any attention, and he was hit with this realization anew. No one truly cared, did they? It was every man for himself. Except for him and Hannibal.

* * *

The fight must have taken more from Hannibal than he would ever admit, because he had finally fallen into a quiet slumber next to Will.

Meanwhile, Conrad was still slumped in front of Nolan’s body, unmoving, and a slack-jawed Jamie was staring into space. Will's mind was empty, and the only thing that felt real to him at the moment was Hannibal's presence and his lingering taste on his tongue. Will somehow resisted the urge to take Hannibal's bandaged hand in his, and instead watched the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders. He exhaled softly, wincing at his sore ribs.  

After much thought, Will got up cautiously and first picked up the gun, discreetly slipping it into his back pocket, then approached Conrad.

“What the hell do you want?” The man growled, understandably, and Will stopped a safe distance from him.

“Conrad, look…” Will wet his lips. “I’m so sorry. He didn't mean for this to happen, he was only trying to defend himself…”

“The fucker stabbed him seven times. Seven!” Conrad wiped at his tear-streaked face with his sleeve, gesticulating wildly at Nolan’s body. “Self-defense, you say? Well -”

“He  _shot_  him,” said Will firmly but not unkindly.

“Yeah, but -” Conrad suddenly choked on his words, fresh moisture welling in his eyes again. His fist slammed into the floor, and Will winced. “ _Fuck it_. Of course it was all Nolan’s fault. He was always an idiot… I should've kept a better eye on him… no, it’s  _my_  fault...” Will was at a loss for what to say, so he maintained a sympathetic silence. “We’re all so fucked.” Conrad’s voice had turned smaller.

Will just nodded. Conrad looked up, and their eyes met for a split second - Will had to turn away first.

“Sorry, man. I think I’ll be joining you soon.” Will had to strain to hear what Conrad murmured before he stood abruptly and retreated to the other side of the room, as far away from his brother’s corpse as possible. Will heaved a sigh, and looked down at Nolan again. Blood everywhere, probably both Nolan’s and Hannibal’s. He felt curiously numb at the sight of the redness, now.

Recalling the fight again, Will was surprised by Hannibal's ability to defend himself against Nolan. He had seen vague flashes of martial arts in Hannibal's movements, possibly of Asian origin. He supposed it was hardly anything revelatory. Hannibal seemed physically fit for his age, and anyone could have learned martial arts at some point in their lives. Still, something was nagging at Will, and he was one to trust his instincts.

Will knelt next to Nolan’s body, grimacing. The man had died with an expression of utter terror carved into his features, his glassy eyes still bulging, and it made Will’s skin crawl. Had Hannibal managed to frighten him so? Will’s gaze traveled down to the chest, where, as Conrad had said, there were seven bloody slits in the shirt. Conrad had removed the knife from the chest and it lay on the floor, its blade completely red. 

Will paused, and pulled down the collar of the shirt so that he could see the wounds underneath. He frowned. Three of them were definitely fatal, and it almost looked to Will like they were placed very deliberately, with at least some level of skill. Will knew the marks of a killer when he saw them. But Hannibal was a former surgeon. He would have anatomical knowledge, so perhaps it made perfect sense that in the heat of life-or-death combat, he would have focused on dispatching his foe as quickly as possible…  

 _No_ , Will shook his head. These were killing blows, delivered with surgical precision. Hannibal would have known this. And then there were the other four, almost careless in comparison to the meticulously placed first three. Strange indeed...

Will looked at Hannibal, still asleep against the wall. In unconsciousness, Hannibal looked so relaxed, _innocent_. Will found it difficult to believe that he could possibly be capable of doing such damage to another human being, whether intentionally or not. But, these were rather special circumstances. Ordinary men like Matthias and Nolan had been driven to even more extreme actions. Why should Hannibal be an exception?

Will desperately wanted him to be.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will begins to see the monster, but can't tear himself away - much to Hannibal's delight. Jamie and Conrad are hopelessly caught in their deadly dance. Will must make a decision, but it may be one he regrets...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the last part, folks! Man, posting endings always makes me nervous. Hope this doesn't disappoint. (minor edits to all chapters may follow) Thank you so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos! I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did writing it.
> 
> Oh, as for the final title, I'll have to think on it a bit more ;)

Again, Jamie chose to come to Will when Hannibal was not present, and this time Will couldn't blame him. “Will.”

“What?” Will was somewhat suspicious. Judging by Jamie’s demeanor, he was certainly not here to talk about his Saint Bernard or his family.

Jamie’s voice dropped low, even though most of their potential eavesdroppers were dead. “There’s… I think there’s something wrong with Hannibal.”

Will frowned. “He did just get the daylights beaten out of him, and that was after some of his finger got shot off, so yes, I’d agree -”

“No,” said Jamie with both irritation and urgency, “I mean… _Jesus_.” He swept his hands through his hair and glanced nervously towards Hannibal’s sleeping form before saying, “Didn't you see him stabbing - killing - Nolan?”

“Of course I did." Will did his best to appear indifferent.

“That wasn't like you and Matthias. That was _different_.” Jamie went on, “And, well… Nolan also tried to attack you while you were asleep. Hannibal threatened him, and it was… it... it scared the shit out of me.”

"What..." So Hannibal had lied to him. _Why?_ The answer wasn't particularly difficult to uncover. Will swallowed. “How?” He asked carefully.

“I can’t remember exactly, okay? I thought… I thought he was really going to kill Nolan. He probably said that he would. I couldn't hear. And then... he did.”

“What’s your point?”

“I -” Jamie seemed to be at a loss for words. “I’m afraid of him. I think you should be, too.” Will studied his expression. His fear was genuine.

“Look,” Will answered at last, “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but Hannibal’s my friend. I've known him for far longer than you have. Let me be the judge of him, thanks.”

Jamie’s face fell and he retreated without another word. However, he had caused the nagging sensation in Will’s gut to only grow stronger. Will believed everything Jamie had told him, though it did occur to him that this would be a convenient way for Jamie to turn him and Hannibal on each other. The evidence supporting Jamie was strong, however. Hannibal did always have an indescribable aura of danger about him, but Will had always attributed it to his intelligence and ability. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Conrad watching them, not bothering to be discreet. The man’s gaze lingered longest on Hannibal, and it was one of powerful hatred.

* * *

When Hannibal came to, he felt lightheaded, as though he was floating. It was an obvious indication of blood loss, and he knew that without proper medical attention soon, he was at high risk of various inconvenient complications. His pulse was weaker than normal and his eyelids were heavy as stone. He glanced at his hand; it was hurting relentlessly, but at least the fabric had yet to become visibly soaked through all its layers. He wondered if the bleeding had stopped by now.

"Hannibal, are you all right?" Ah, he had even forgotten about Will and the other men momentarily. The profiler’s concerned face entered his vision, blurry at first.

"Yes," he said, though he could hear himself slurring the word rather unconvincingly. Will raised a dubious eyebrow, and Hannibal added, “Just tired.”

“Sure.” Sarcasm dripped from Will's voice, and Hannibal almost chuckled at it.

He said instead, “And you?”

“Fine, I told you,” Will said brusquely, then hesitated. “Hannibal… you really don’t look well.”

Will was right, of course. Hannibal was well aware that his condition was deteriorating. He found that he was shivering slightly, and despite this, a thin layer of sweat was coating him from head to toe. The room felt much colder than he remembered, and the lack of food or water was certainly not helping his case. “There’s nothing you can do, Will, but thank you for the concern.”

Will’s jaw was working as he sat down next to him. After a pause, he said with a humourless smirk, “You think Jack might find us before we all slaughter each other?”

“We can’t rule out the possibility,” replied Hannibal. Will huffed a laugh.

“I suppose not.” Neither of them were seriously considering this outcome to be in the realm of reality.

Hannibal laid his head back on the wall; he would conserve his energy as best as he could. His intuition told him that he would need it quite soon. He drifted back into his memory palace, choosing to relax with the harpsichord to dull the gnawing pain in his finger. The pleasant music softened the concrete behind his head and the harsh scents of the room, lulling Hannibal back into a half-asleep state. Unfortunately, he was interrupted by Will, who was whispering his name sharply.

“Hannibal.”

Hannibal opened his eyes, and smelled Conrad before he saw him. By now, he was too fatigued to be at all interested in the man, whom he cared little for. Hannibal could easily foresee how this was going to end, and the beast within him was more than prepared for carnage. His mask had stayed on for long enough. It was time to reveal himself to Conrad - and to Will. He strongly trusted the latter to not react in a disappointing or banal manner.

Conrad was vying for his attention. “You. _Fucker_.”

* * *

Will chided himself for not staying more alert. He should have known that it was inevitable for Conrad to confront Hannibal. And already, the situation seemed to have progressed too far to stop.

"You didn't have to kill him. You did it on purpose," Conrad was saying hoarsely.

"I’m not sure what you mean," said Hannibal, standing up slowly. Will did the same, resisting the temptation to step in front of Hannibal and shield him from the other man.

Conrad’s voice increased in volume. "I mean you murdered my brother in cold blood. I know what I saw!"

Hannibal replied as though he was speaking to a young child, along with an undertone of weariness. "Don't be absurd." Conrad’s features clouded over with barely-contained fury at this, and Will saw his fist clench, the other hand sliding into his pocket.

Will tried to intervene. “Conrad, please -”

“You stay out of this!” Conrad roared at Will; to his surprise and dismay, it was Jamie who suddenly yanked him back and away from the pair. Will hadn't noticed him approach, and Jamie took advantage of his surprise.

“ _Let go of me_.” Will hissed, struggling.

Jamie’s grip was firm and his voice even. “You’re going to get hurt.”

“I don’t _care!_ He’s going to kill Hannibal -” Will looked back towards Hannibal and Conrad, who were unmoving, much like animals sizing each other up before a tussle. Hannibal looked small and almost frail next to Conrad, and it wasn't difficult for Will to surmise that he was suffering from the effects of blood loss. _Hannibal could die, and you won’t be able to do anything._ The words echoed through his head mockingly. A part of him suggested that this was exactly what Jamie wanted, and rage briefly flashed up in him.

Conrad threw a punch at Hannibal, who went down to one knee from the blow. Will cried out, but a mere second later, it was Conrad who was screaming. The larger man was staring down at his own body, wide-eyed. Hannibal's hand - his bandaged one -  was curled around something shiny and metallic, which was now stuck in Conrad's lower abdomen. The larger man obviously hadn't expected an attack from Hannibal’s injured side and was caught unguarded. With one smooth motion of his arm, Hannibal sliced open fabric and flesh like butter. Entrails spilled out from the massive gash; Conrad moaned and his legs folded under him. Hannibal was standing upright now, breathing heavily, looking down at his fallen opponent with a bloody scalpel in his hand. Where he had produced the weapon from, Will could only guess.

Slowly, Hannibal’s gaze moved up to meet Will's. The dark irises were curiously empty, and Will shivered without meaning to. Jamie's grip was locked on his arm, crushingly tight and shaking. "W-Will. He... he just..."

Will didn't answer. Several more seconds crawled by before Jamie finally let go of him; Will went to Conrad then turned him over, his stomach churning at the gory sight. Conrad shrieked something at Will that he couldn't fully decipher - but it seemed to him like Nolan’s name. All the while, Hannibal stood by quietly and calmly, almost inhumanly so. Will was numb, and the sounds of Conrad's death throes were dim in his ears. In silence, he and Hannibal watched the stranger bleed until his eyes fluttered shut and movements ceased.

Will was barely present in the room; instead, he found himself turning over every conversation and encounter that he had ever had with Hannibal Lecter since their first meeting in his mind. The pieces were snapping into place. There was no dancing around the fact that Hannibal was a seasoned killer, and with his exquisite taste, intelligence and medical knowledge, he could easily be... _No_ …

Will stole a glance at the man next to him. Splattered with blood and dishevelled, Hannibal certainly did look more the part of the Chesapeake Ripper now.

The other half of Will could only recall how Hannibal had been nothing but loyal and attentive to his needs, when no one else had. How he had kissed him earlier, impossibly tender for someone apparently a mass murderer. How his eyes softened for him, like he was something beautiful and precious, something to be treasured...

_It’s not possible..._

Will left Hannibal's side, half-expecting the scalpel to slice into him as well. It didn't. However, he felt the psychiatrist's gaze on his back like that of an eagle, equally penetrating.

* * *

Will was sitting at the other end of the room with his eyes squeezed shut, lost in his thoughts, or was it his imagination instead? Hannibal, this time on his feet, took inventory of his physical status. Still declining, but at least the single punch from Conrad had failed to damage anything in particular. Hannibal was waiting; he had estimated Jamie would confront either him or Will within fifteen minutes, and as per usual, he had estimated correctly. The suited man was coming to him purposefully, head held straight in a show of confidence, though it did nothing to mask the scent of underlying fear wafting from him.

“You've got to go,” Jamie’s hand was trembling around the kitchen knife it was holding, but his face was determined. "I'm sure Will would agree."

“I beg to differ,” said Hannibal, and he was already reaching into his pocket, the cold metal of the scalpel at his fingertips.

A sudden spell of dizziness came over him at this moment, causing him to pause and blink, fighting down the urge to throw up. Hannibal cursed its timing - it wasn't often that his body failed him so spectacularly. Then again, it wasn't often that he ended up in situations like this. Quite cleverly, Jamie chose this opportunity to attack. Hannibal regained control of his vision and limbs, but he only narrowly managed to dodge Jamie's first strike, and he teetered ungracefully into the wall. He raised his head to see Jamie swinging at him again with the knife, and his body was refusing to respond to his commands in a prompt manner. The blade cut into his shirt sleeve, harmlessly passing through the fabric, far too close. Hannibal was woefully off-balance; at this rate, he was possibly in actual danger from Jamie, as difficult it was for him to admit.

And then, Jamie was suddenly frozen, gaping, to which Hannibal tilted his head in mild interest. When the man whirled around unsteadily, Hannibal observed the screwdriver in his back, a dark stain already spreading around the spot on his shirt. Will was standing behind him, his face contorted in a myriad of emotions, his shaking hand clenched around a pole from the weapon pile and shoulders heaving.

“Thank you, Will,” said Hannibal pleasantly.

“Will, why…” Jamie was disbelieving. Hannibal frowned, becoming impatient unlike his usual self.

Will’s voice was scarcely audible. “I’m so sorry.” Hannibal could easily see that Will was being completely sincere in his apology, and he couldn't help but smile. “I told you, Hannibal is my friend.”

Jamie’s eyes were widening with horror as they turned back on Hannibal, and he tried to lift up the knife for the final time. Will struck him down with the pole before he could, the metal connecting at the back of the knees and felling him like a tree. Hannibal watched as Will beat Jamie with the pole repeatedly, merciless. Red flew everywhere, Jamie’s cries punctuated by the wet thumps of the pole and cracking of bones.

Jamie was wheezing when Will let the weapon drop to the floor with a _clang_. Without further ado, Hannibal approached the battered figure, going down on his knees before placing his hands around the vulnerable throat. Will made no move to stop him, and Jamie garbled with terror, his eyes rolling. Hannibal took his time in squeezing the life from Jamie, holding his gaze all the while. His injured finger was in agony, but he let the satisfaction of the kill override it. His and Will’s kill. _Their_ kill.

When he straightened, Will was facing him, rigid, with Jamie lying between them.  

“I admit, you surprised me, Will.”

“Yeah. I surprised myself, too.” Will laughed, and the sound somehow conveyed a numb sort of horror and wonder. “...what have I done?”

“Ensured your own survival. Nothing more or less,” answered Hannibal.

“You know that’s not true.”

Hannibal allowed another smile. “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll tell you this - I’m impressed.” 

Will sucked in air through his nose in a visible effort to calm down. “Well… that’s it, then. It’s just us,” he said, and looked deliberately into Hannibal’s eyes. Anticipatory tension thrummed on Hannibal’s skin, but he simply stood completely motionless, waiting. _Go on, Will. Make your move_. He ran his tongue over his teeth.

* * *

Every fibre of Will’s being was screaming at him, begging him to reconsider. That everything about what he was about to do was so _wrong_. It was difficult to heed his rationality when he was fully aware of the few possible outcomes to this situation. In several minutes, in an hour - one or both of them may no longer be alive.

He refused to look at Jamie when he stepped over him and toward Hannibal.

Will kissed Hannibal, taking his face into his hands. He pushed him to the wall and their fronts pressed together. Hannibal kneaded Will’s back and shoulders, then moved down to his buttocks; Will traced Hannibal's face and its angular contours, his fingers brushing the jawline and the rough stubble lining it, the high cheekbones and the prominent chin. He kept his eyes open. He wanted to clearly see Hannibal before him, and as if he had noticed this, Hannibal too wouldn't let Will escape his gaze. 

“Will,” Hannibal said, the rise and fall of his chest rapid, “you do realize that I’ve lost a lot of blood.”

Will only kissed him again. He didn't care. This was a terrible idea for both of them for a multitude of reasons - but he didn’t care. Evidently, neither did Hannibal, whose mouth opened invitingly against Will’s lips. When they came apart for air, Hannibal was already deftly working at Will's shirt buttons, and Will followed suit. 

Half-undressed now, Hannibal forced them both to the floor, pulling Will free from his shirt at the same time. Will hardly noticed the unforgiving concrete under him. Hannibal was pinning him down with his weight, and Will felt himself becoming hard quickly, overwhelmed by Hannibal’s scent, his touch, his taste. Hannibal’s hands were now delicately exploring Will’s torso, trailing through fresh bruises and older imperfections on the flesh, leaving goosebumps in their wake - the same hands that had killed so many, three in this room alone. Will, with his arms around Hannibal’s shoulders, could feel the wiry muscles working beneath his shirt and skin like a finely-tuned machine.

 _He's a beast_.

Hannibal’s breaths were loud in Will’s ear, hoarse and ragged. Not quite fully animalistic. Almost.

 _A killer_.

Will reached down to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. He was desperate. Heat was coursing feverishly through his veins, and he was having difficulty controlling his own limbs. As Will writhed free of his pants, Hannibal made a low noise at the back of his throat, nearly a growl. Will found this jarring more than anything. It also aroused him inexplicably.

 _A monster_.

Hannibal’s shirt was hanging open enticingly and his pants were partway on, the belt hanging loose. His hard length rubbed along the inside of Will's thighs and even then, Will felt a damp spot of precum forming on his underwear. Hannibal hooked a finger under the waistband, pulling downward. Will tore the shirt off of him. As if he was as impatient as Will was, he only briefly teased the hole with his fingers and then his erection, making Will quiver at the touch, before finally pushing in. There was neither hesitation nor excess force. Will made an involuntary sound at the sudden fullness and friction, his grip on Hannibal tightening, but the discomfort quickly gave way to raw pleasure. His eyelids fluttering, he wound his legs around Hannibal’s waist, while entwining his fingers with those of Hannibal’s bandaged hand, including the damaged digit - Hannibal grunted and his body bucked, making Will gasp. The psychiatrist’s other hand was cupped around Will’s head, cushioning it from the floor.

"Sorry," Will said huskily, not meaning it.

Hannibal only smirked, and he tightened his fingers around Will's, despite the pain Will assumed it would cause him. “Will... ” He murmured, his eyes heavy-lidded under the hair falling over his forehead.

Will forced his eyes open and looked into Hannibal’s face. It was as though he was seeing him properly for the very first time. There was no mask obscuring it, and Will could read his emotions like they were written there. Affection, desire, pride, a tinge of sadness or perhaps regret. Was it all being shown intentionally, or was Hannibal’s carefully constructed persona coming apart at the seams?

 _Hannibal is a monster_. The words were losing their meaning. Will couldn’t help but be seduced once again. The being before him was majestic, demanding reverence and rapt attention. And Will was giving him both, not entirely unwillingly.

As he began to move his hips, Hannibal bent his neck and kissed Will with unrestrained hunger. Teeth closed around his lower lip, tugging until it hurt, and Will dug his nails deeply into Hannibal’s back in response, inducing a soft growl from him. However, he gave no outward reaction as Will thumbed the dark bruises that had formed on his sides and stomach, probably courtesy of Conrad. The various sore parts of Will’s body were protesting at the movements, but he was solely focused on Hannibal, by whom he felt like he was being swallowed whole. Consumed, greedily, like he was a decadent meal.

Both of Hannibal’s hands were flat on the floor either side of Will, the strain showing in his upper arms and the tendons of his neck. The makeshift bandage was now blotched with red, but Hannibal paid it no attention. Will put a hand up to Hannibal’s chest; the heart within was pounding wildly in its ribcage as he thrusted, fast, uneven. Hannibal was nearly silent save the sound of his breathing - this both fascinated and unnerved Will. For he could hear himself so clearly, gasping incoherently or making noises that he never knew he could. Hannibal picked up his pace as they neared their climaxes, sweat beaded on his skin from exertion. The pressure was rapidly building between Will’s legs, making his toes curl and vision blur.

“Hannibal - _ah_ -”

Will came moments before Hannibal, and moaned when he did, throwing back his head against the floor. It was then Will finally heard Hannibal’s voice, drawn out in a low groan resembling Will’s name as he shuddered, back arching. Will felt a thrill at that, another wave of pleasure washing over him; it was he who had made Hannibal come undone. Only him.

* * *

For as long as he had known of the Chesapeake Ripper, Will had pictured the killer as a creature of perverse beauty. And that, Hannibal was.

They had wiped themselves off and dressed without speaking. Will pulled on his shirt, now rather filthy, then his jacket. He watched Hannibal in his peripheral vision. A heaviness hung about him, and he was lacking his usual grace of movement, even more so than before. There were rivulets of blood dropping from his hand, and he was so pallid. To Will’s surprise, he lay down on his back after putting on his shirt, his eyes half-closed. With the adrenaline fading from his system, Will’s limbs also began to feel weighed down. He was tired and hungry and knew he wouldn’t be able to keep going for much longer. Will knew that this was as good an opportunity as any. It was now or never.

Steeling himself, Will stood over Hannibal, and said, “I know what you are, Hannibal.”

His lids opened slowly to gaze up at Will. “It’s a pity that we couldn’t have this conversation somewhere more suitable,” sighed Hannibal, and he looked sincerely regretful.

 _He knows that I know. Of course_.

“For so long... You were lying to me?” Will’s voice shook, as much as he tried to steady it.

“I have been as genuine to you as I am to myself.” Hannibal sat up as he spoke, and he got to his feet with a grunt.

“You’re a monster.”

The words had no visible effect on Hannibal; he only smiled slightly at this, as if he had been told it many times before. “Do you wish to kill me?”

Will gritted his teeth. “The Chesapeake Ripper…”

“So they say.” There was no mistaking the disdain in his voice. Of course. Hannibal considered himself to be above being labelled with crude monikers. He was _more_ than that, or so he would believe. _He sees his victims as pigs_. Will recalled how casually Nolan, Conrad and Jamie had been discarded. Then what did Hannibal see him, Will Graham, as?

“To answer your question - truthfully, I don’t know. But I do know what I’m obliged to do.”

Will slowly reached for the gun, which he had left in his jacket pocket before killing Jamie. Hannibal’s eyes flickered ever so slightly, then impossibly quickly, he snapped into motion like a cracking whip. He snarled, his scalpel a glitter of silver streaking through the air. Genuine fear had risen in Will’s chest, overpowering. Never before had he encountered anything like this. Will had expected the Chesapeake Ripper to be... _colder_. Who would have guessed that underneath that surgical, methodical exterior, there hid such a force of nature, of primal feeling? It occurred to him that perhaps it was a face the Ripper - Hannibal - didn't reveal often to the outside world.

Will abandoned the gun in his pocket for now. He knew he only had one bullet left, and it would be unwise to shoot wildly at Hannibal from this range. Hannibal was closing in on him, the scalpel ready to slash him into ribbons. Will scrambled backwards in desperation, finding the pole he had left next to Jamie earlier. He nearly tripped on the body but regained his balance, the pole steadied out in front of him, in time to meet Hannibal’s first strikes. Will somehow fended off the blows and avoided the flashing blade, even as his arms smarted from the impact of the blows that were driving him back to the wall.

Will couldn't help but wonder at the other man’s endurance and sheer power. All the same, he could see that Hannibal was tiring quickly, the previous events having taken a toll on him.

Will spotted a split-second opening in Hannibal’s stance, and he used it to strike out at the midsection. The pole caught Hannibal in the gut and he staggered back, if only for a second. In a motion that exuded finality, Hannibal lunged for him with the scalpel poised, and simultaneously, Will whipped out the gun from his jacket pocket. It was too late for Hannibal to change course, and at the moment of their collision, Will shoved it against Hannibal’s abdomen and squeezed the trigger.

Along with the deafening gunshot, fire erupted in Will’s shoulder, but he didn't cry out. Neither did Hannibal, the only sound he produced being a sharp intake of air. Hannibal collapsed into Will’s embrace, and they both fell, Hannibal dragging Will down with him. Warm blood spilled onto Will, soaking through his clothes in seconds - almost all of it Hannibal’s, he knew.  

The scalpel was stuck in his upper arm. It hurt, but to his dismay, Will immediately could tell that Hannibal could have driven it into him so much further than he had with that vicious strength he possessed. This wound would cause him little lasting damage.

The Chesapeake Ripper would never make such a mistake.

Hannibal was making no attempt to stem the flow of blood, his expression eerily serene, almost contented, even as his breathing became more and more laboured. “I always believed… guns lacked intimacy.” Hannibal had to stop for air. “Once again you've proven me wrong, Will.”

Will felt no joy from his victory. Instead it was as though a giant fist had taken hold of him around the chest, squeezing all the oxygen from his lungs; he tasted bile at the back of his throat and his temples were pulsing painfully.

 _My friend_.

“God _damn_ it,” Will choked out, clapping his hand to the wound he had just made, warm and wet. Hannibal’s muscles jerked under his palm at this, and a sick satisfaction surged within Will, but also nausea. _He deserves all the pain in the world and more_ , Will tried to tell himself.

And yet, a part of him was refusing to acknowledge this.

Hannibal whispered, “Are you trying to save me, Will?”

Will’s voice shook. “Were _you?_ ”

Hannibal smiled faintly. “I… missed.”

“ _You’re such a fucking liar_.” Moisture was welling in Will’s eyes and angrily, he wiped at them with his sleeve. The tears flowed free anyway. Will was furious. _Why_ was he crying? He had every right to put Hannibal Lecter through as much agony as possible, to tear him from limb to limb, for everything he had done. _Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper_. Yet, Will felt no urges of the sort. It should have disturbed him.

“That was rude, Will,” murmured Hannibal, his eyes fluttering and forehead scrunching in discomfort - as if the gaping bullet hole was nothing more than a mere annoyance. If the shudders hadn't been wracking at him with such force, Will could have laughed at the bizareness of this whole goddamn thing.

“Why couldn't you just kill me like you would have anyone else?” Will managed to force the words out.

Hannibal reached up to touch Will’s cheek, leaving behind a smear of crimson that mingled with the tears, and Will trembled. “You know why.”

_He loves me; he truly does._

He came to a horrible realization soon after. _I still love him._

Will tugged Hannibal into a sitting position, hearing the other man’s breath hitch painfully at the movement. More blood came leaking from the wound and Will clutched it tighter, clutched _him_ tighter. Now, both of their fronts were soaked. The scalpel felt like nothing more than a pinprick to Will.

“I can’t...” sobbed Will, mostly to himself. _I can’t save him. And I can’t let him go_.

At first, Will thought that Hannibal was losing consciousness, his neck going limp; and then it became clear that he was leaning in deliberately. Even with his fading strength, he was kissing him, his bloodied lips caressing Will’s brow and cheek in a comforting manner. Will, at last, turned his head to meet Hannibal’s mouth with his own. Hannibal made a contented humming noise as their lips connected, crimson and saliva mixing. His fingers wrapped around Will’s forearm, almost as if to cling for life.

When Hannibal pulled away, he was saying something in a low voice, semi-coherent. As hard as Will strained to listen, he couldn't understand. It was a foreign language, and Will felt a strange pang in his chest when he couldn't recognize it at all. Perhaps Hannibal’s native tongue, but it could have been anything. Will would likely never know.

Hannibal fell quiet. Time seemed to slow to an excruciating pace as Will sat, holding Hannibal with his hand firmly pressed to his abdomen. On several occasions, he debated whether or not to simply remove the pressure and allow Hannibal - the Chesapeake Ripper - to bleed out, and all those times, he failed to bring himself to do it. Even so, the blood was continuing to flow. _He’s gone anyway. You’re powerless_. Once or twice, Hannibal coughed against Will, his entire body shaking convulsively. Will wanted to block the horrible heaving sounds from his ears; all he heard was the suffering of Hannibal, his closest friend. _Maybe I’ll die with him here_ , thought Will, remembering the scalpel embedded in him, probably still trickling blood. The notion was oddly inviting.

“Hang on, please,” Will didn't realize he was whispering this, over and over like a prayer, but he received no answer.

Will was unsure when exactly he began to hear the footsteps. Before they became increasingly distinct, he had thought he was imagining them, coming from behind the outline of the door in the wall. Will looked up towards it. Were those voices, as well? He had no idea who or what to expect, but his body was failing to muster up any tension. He felt sucked dry. Hannibal kept his face buried in the crook of Will’s neck, and Will could no longer tell if he was awake or not - but he still felt the soft breaths on his skin. _He might survive this._ He was disgusted when he found himself taking some comfort in the fact. As this crossed his mind, Hannibal’s iron grip on his arm tightened further.

The door groaned open, and Will inhaled deeply, holding Hannibal close.


	4. IV (epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to popular demand, here is an extra chapter and an epilogue of sorts (finally)! Your comments and hindsight made me realize more closure might have been nice. Bear in mind that Chapter III was intended to be the ending; this is more of an optional add-on. It's also been a while since I thought I'd finished the original story, so I apologize in advance for any sense of disjointedness you might get here... I hope this at least somewhat satisfies you all!
> 
> (and no, I still don't know what to properly title the story)

It was the sharp smell of antiseptics that prodded Hannibal awake first. The pain came seeping into his nervous system gradually, the dull aches growing more and more intense until he had to relinquish getting any more sleep. Every inhalation set fire to his abdomen anew, but he was hurting everywhere. A headache was steadily pounding away at his temples, and it wasn't difficult for Hannibal to judge that he probably had a fever. He didn't wish to open his eyes; exhaustion was crushing him even as he lay motionless.

All the while, his mind raced. It seemed that he was alive, though it was unclear to him exactly what his current circumstances were. He could hardly recall how or why he was here, presumably a hospital.

 _Will. Where was Will?_ He was the first and only thing Hannibal could picture clearly, an anchor in this disorder.

"Will," he attempted before he could even pry his eyelids open, but his voice emerged as a pitiful croak that managed to surprise him. The whiteness of the room was blinding, making nausea surge from his stomach. "Will." He had hardly forced the syllable out before he erupted into a bout of coughing - incredible pain tore through him, as though he was being ripped open at the belly. He could scarcely think through it, his mind and body simply too weak. What was wrong with him? _Ah, yes, Will... Will and the gun_. Hannibal remembered. Hand subconsciously going clutching at the wound, he was wheezing for air, which only prolonged the agony; at the same time, the concrete room come back to him in a vivid rush, raw and visceral. Will's face and his sweet, hot scent, his voice and damp skin. The gunshot, and the red haze that followed... _Exquisite_.

There were hands on him, firmly pressing him back down into the bed - not that he had the strength to struggle - and he heard urgent, indistinct murmurings from above. The seconds dragged on, and Hannibal fought the darkness that threatened to swallow him up again. The pain was quite extraordinary, and his eyes were watering, blurring the world before him. He somehow kept from vomiting from it; a convulsion of the abdominal muscles was surely far beyond what his nervous system would be able to withstand in his state. Hannibal vaguely wondered if he had ever felt anything akin to this before. He didn't think so, but his memory and brain functions were proving to be rather fuzzy at best.

At last, he could breathe again and the roaring of blood in his ears subsided, most likely due to an increase in morphine in his IV. With precious oxygen came clarity. He knew it wouldn't last long as the drugs took effect, so he intended to make best use of his time. Hannibal could tell he was being asked questions of some sort by those tending to him, but this was not where his attention was being directed in the slightest.

"I'm right here, Hannibal," he heard a man say, "I'm fine."

And then he saw him, almost exactly as he remembered before he finally succumbed to his injuries in the concrete room. Will was gaunt and paler than usual, with fading bruises and cuts adorning his face, but otherwise he looked relatively unscathed. No doubt less worse for the wear than Hannibal was. His heart swelled with... _something_ at the sight of Will. He was in too much pain to decipher what exactly it was, or so he told himself.

"Give us five minutes," rasped Hannibal, gripping the railings and hauling himself upright. His right hand screamed at him from the effort and the damaged muscles of his stomach were protesting violently, but he let no sound escape him. His discomfort must have shown, as Will was looking on from behind, his features forming a mask of concern.

Someone insisted, "Dr. Lecter, you're very ill -"

Unsophisticated anger flashed within Hannibal, a relatively rare occurrence. “I _know_ that. Please," he grated out. Will was saying something to the nurse as Hannibal attempted to properly focus his vision, their words meaninglessly drifting by his ears; their voices became louder until, finally, the nurse reluctantly retreated. Will came forward, pulling over a chair, and placed a hand on Hannibal's slick forehead.

"Damn it, Hannibal, you're burning up. We should've listened to the nurse."

"No matter. It's nothing dangerous." He sounded almost comically awful, and in annoyance, Hannibal's brow furrowed deeply. Will silently and begrudgingly handed him a plastic cup of water, which Hannibal tried not to accept with overt eagerness. The liquid felt wonderfully cool on his parched throat, and he attempted to speak again.

"How are you, Will?" Better.

"I've already said I'm fine. I was discharged a while ago and it won't take long for me to heal."

"Good. The arm?"

Will rolled his shoulders, rubbing his right arm as he did so. "It’ll be sore for a while, thank you very much, but it’s nothing major. You'll be here awhile, though. You're hurt pretty bad."

"I'm aware." He felt terrible. It would be a long time until he could even consider leaving his bed...

"Clearly you're not, or we wouldn't be having this conversation right now." Will sighed. "I didn't know you were this stubborn."

Hannibal snorted. “I do tend to be quite persistent.”

“No kidding,” muttered Will, suddenly grave. "You do realize they told us to prepare for the worst? You'd lost so much blood..."

"I figured as much," Hannibal fingered his bandaged hand. "I wondered if I would be strong enough." He was being truthful; he had no delusions about his own bodily limits. It would have been a pity indeed if he died in that room, but not unexpected, so he had been completely prepared to make those moments with Will his last. Will's eyes widened ever so slightly at this admission.

They fell quiet, Hannibal listening to the sound of his heart rate monitor and Will seemingly doing the same. At last, deciding the timing was apt, Hannibal broke the silence with the inevitable question. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"It's nothing as dramatic or poetic as you'd like," said Will. "The police got an anonymous tip with our location and they found us before we could bleed out and die. Rather anticlimactic, even in my opinion."

Hannibal pursed his lips, somewhat amused. "That must have been the perpetrator."

"Yes, of course. He wanted us to be found. Though, he probably expected one survivor at most."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "They didn't catch him?"

"No, and I don't think they will." Hannibal could tell Will was completely indifferent to the fact, much like himself.

"A pity," remarked Hannibal with a hint of a smirk.

"Mm-hm." The noise Will made was noncommittal, in neither agreement nor disagreement.

Hannibal looked down at himself, in all his dishevelled glory. The ill-fitting hospital gown, with gauze peeking out from under it, covering much of his abdomen; needles, tubes and wires hooking him up to various machines and implements... For a moment Hannibal's eyes came to a rest on his right hand - he held it closer to his face for examination, idly wondering how much of his finger he had kept, as it was difficult to accurately tell through the dressing. He could feel Will's uneasy gaze on him but feigned ignorance of it. At last, gesturing with his arms, he said, "Not to state the obvious, but I see that I'm not in restraints at the moment - care to enlighten me?"

Will looked at him for a long while before he averted his gaze; something between a smile and a grimace split his face. Shame and pride, regret and relief, anger and joy - the seemingly contradictory emotions were intermingled in the single expression. Will said nothing, but Hannibal fully understood. He grinned through his headache.

"Ah," he said quietly, unable to keep the twinkle from his eyes.

"It was easier than I thought," Will murmured, refusing to meet Hannibal's gaze. "Jack and the others had no doubts about what I said. Maybe I had it in me the whole time."

"Maybe," agreed Hannibal. He paused as his stomach gave an exceedingly painful throb, causing his breath to catch in his throat. He saw no reason to hide his weakness from Will - perhaps it was even to his advantage to not. The profiler maintained a polite silence, allowing Hannibal to regain his composure before continuing, "And for that, I've always found you exceptionally beautiful." Another pause, fighting against an onslaught of drowsiness, probably from the morphine. "I'm very proud of you, Will."

Will let out a bark of laughter, fondness infused in the sound. He then stood from his chair and came to Hannibal's side, proceeding to abruptly lean in and kiss him on the lips. Hannibal let himself sink back into his pillows, closing his eyes and savouring Will's familiar taste. Will’s hand was at the side of his face, thumb caressing his bruised cheek none too gently. Hannibal welcomed the burn. His heart rate was elevating, unusually so for him - perhaps it was the fever. Perhaps not.

Breaking away slightly too soon, Will said as he passed a hand over Hannibal's arm, "Please, get some rest now." His face was flushed, lips too red - the nurse stared as she came back into the ward. Hannibal gave her an innocuous smile. Will added, the corner of his mouth threatening to turn up as well, "I'll come by again later."

“Thank you for visiting, Will.”

* * *

Will was trying to focus on his book, but his eyes kept on straying to the bed where Hannibal lay. Winston was lounging at the bottom of it, his head resting on some part of Hannibal that was hidden under the covers. He wasn't sleeping well -  Will observed him tossing and turning constantly from the day he arrived here at his house the week prior, but he politely refused the painkillers Will offered him. 'I prefer not to medicate myself unless absolutely necessary,' he had said, to which Will nearly laughed. It was not as though he hadn't been pumped full of drugs at the hospital for weeks already. Even so, Will understood - it must have brought Hannibal relief to regain full control of his facilities after everything that had happened.

Thus, it came as a surprise that he agreed at all to let Will look after him, and Will wondered what compelled him to do so. He knew that Hannibal was more than capable of handling himself, physically and mentally. Perhaps it was companionship he was craving, that of Will specifically.

"Is it hurting again?"

Hannibal didn't open his eyes, and his voice was hardly above a whisper, laden with sleep. "It's fine, Will."

"Hey, let me see it," said Will, tugging at the covers. Winston's ears perked and he cocked his head in curiosity, making some of the other dogs follow suit. When Hannibal moved his legs Winston was jostled off the bed with a disgruntled huff, going to join his pack on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Hannibal shook his head, turning to face the other way. "I said it's fine," he mumbled with a tinge of irritation, the words partly stifled by the pillows.

"Come _on_."

Hannibal finally relented, surrendering his grip on the covers and turning onto his back. Visibly rueful, he allowed Will to lift his borrowed, slightly too tight pyjama shirt and gently untape the gauze pad underneath.

Will was never sure what to think at the sight of the wound. It was quite a dramatic one, having been made from such close range, and Will was well aware of the complications it had caused in the emergency room. The doctors were reportedly impressed by Hannibal's recovery. Will wasn’t. He knew now, more than ever, that Hannibal possessed monstrous strength and immense power of will. He had clung onto life as tenaciously as a leech to its host. And he had survived, partly thanks to Will, ironically enough.

The scar would be proof of Will's attempts to both kill him and save him. Will was certain that Hannibal would be delighted to possess it - a permanent testament to their relationship and all that they had gone through. And apparently, the hospital had found evidence of other older injuries on him, the majority probably self-doctored and all long mended. It was terribly clear to Will that they were likely the marks of failed "hunts" - growth pains of the Chesapeake Ripper. Instead of saying so, Will let them draw their own conclusions, the same as he had done to Jack Crawford.

Will took the bottle of ointment from the bedside table and squeezed some onto his finger. "It's looking a lot better."

"Mhm." Hannibal undoubtedly knew it was far from the truth; the wound had all but killed him and healing would be a long, arduous process. He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, then moved his gaze to meet Will's. He didn't acknowledge Will's touch as the younger man rubbed in the ointment, other than with a minute, involuntary clenching of the muscles.

When he was done, Will wiped his fingers off on his pant leg and swung himself into the bed next to Hannibal, who shifted to accommodate him. Hannibal absently threaded his fingers through Will's hair, and the agent's eyelids closed languidly of their own accord. They snapped open again when he felt Hannibal reach into his underwear as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"We shouldn't do this, not so soon..." Will began to say, taking Hannibal's wrist and stopping the hand where it was. "I mean it. You have to get better first."

Hannibal resisted, his hand continuing its path down to Will’s groin. "It doesn't have to be like last time."

“Hannibal…” Will’s voice was already thick with arousal long before Hannibal's hand wrapped around his cock. _The dogs are all still here_ , he meant to say, but the words stuck in his throat. Shivers coursed through him at Hannibal’s every touch and stroke, the blood rapidly rushing down to his navel. Before he could stop himself he had accepted Hannibal’s violent kiss into his mouth, their lips locking until they were both swollen and raw. When they came apart for air, Will pushed Hannibal's shirt fully open and found himself caressing his nipples, to which he hissed in satisfaction. Will felt Hannibal's erection pressing against his thigh, and couldn't help but grin.

“Hannibal, wait.” Ignoring Hannibal’s grunt of protest, Will rolled off the bed, already hard and his pants hanging from his waist. He cursed himself for being so ungraceful as stumbled to the bathroom and groped around in the cabinets until he found what he was looking for - a bottle of lubricant and a packet of condoms. Hannibal’s lips quirked up in amusement when he saw, sitting up as Will returned to the bed. His shirt slid off his torso and Will's heart skipped a beat at seeing him unclothed again, this time not mottled with blood.

He really was quite beautiful.

“No, you stay where you were.” Will pushed him back down by the shoulder and Hannibal was compliant, a half-smile playing across his face. Setting down the bottle for a moment, Will reached for Hannibal’s waistband and pulled down, taking a moment to appraise what was underneath. "Stay put if you don't want to tear yourself open. I'm going to do the work," said Will as he rolled a condom onto Hannibal's cock, then proceeded to thoroughly lubricate it and himself. He enjoyed seeing Hannibal very nearly shaking with anticipation.

"Come here, Will," Hannibal said huskily; Will did as he bid and sank into his arms, following with another heated kiss. Will took a sharp intake of air when Hannibal inserted a finger into his ass with little warning, nuzzling and nipping at his collarbone all the while. Teeth bit into Will several times, certainly hard enough to leave behind marks on the skin, but Will could think little of it with Hannibal penetrating him.

Will gasped, "More." Hannibal obliged with one, then two more fingers. But he could feel Hannibal growing restless, so much energy coiling in his body despite its weakness, begging for release. Will reached down and guided the fingers out, and he ached to be filled by Hannibal again the moment they left him. Panting, Will positioned himself above Hannibal's erection and gingerly lowered himself down onto it. During the process, Hannibal put his head back, baring his neck, its tendons bulging. Will still felt far too tight, but the sensation of Hannibal inside him was now deliciously familiar. At Will's first tentative movement up and down, Hannibal let out his breath in a low whistle, pleasure briefly contorting his face. Even now, Will couldn't tear his eyes away from the bullet wound, but Hannibal said nothing if he had noticed. His eyes shut and mouth pressed together in a thin line, he gave an encouraging upward motion of the hips, to which Will moaned out loud, feeling every inch of the hard length pushing up into him. From the floor, one of the dogs barked, but Will didn't hear.

He began to grind up and down, slowly at first, watching Hannibal carefully for any signs of discomfort. There was none, and the psychiatrist was now supporting Will's back, fingertips pressing into his skin. Will applied more force, placing his palms flat on Hannibal’s pectorals and relishing the heartbeat thrumming within. Sweat was beading on Hannibal’s brow; only now did he open his eyes, glazed with desire, to look up at Will. Will felt a flash of embarrassment at Hannibal seeing him like this, completely laid bare, this time without the excuse of impending death. This notion immediately dissolved at the adoration he saw in Hannibal’s face.

At first, Will thought that Hannibal was right; this wasn’t like last time. _Then again_ , considered Will, _perhaps it is_. Hannibal thrusted into him like a famished beast and there was a certain note of desperation between them. Will was unsure of why. They were no longer in danger of dying, yet time felt limited. Did Hannibal feel the same? It was difficult to ever know with him - entirely unpredictable, never static and as opaque as frosted glass. Will wouldn’t be surprised if Hannibal chose to murder him right here and now, while his cock was still in him, even, but for whatever reason, he didn’t care. The thrill of fucking this volatile _monster_ was incomparable to anything else he had ever experienced.

Glittering savagely, Hannibal's eyes were dark as a shark’s under the hair falling over his face, his lips drawn back in a silent snarl - Will couldn't say whether it was an expression of pleasure or pain. Suddenly, Will felt Hannibal strain under him as he sat up with a loud grunt, bringing Will with him. He cried out, unaccustomed to the new angle, but didn't cease his movements. He saw a smile steal over Hannibal's face at this, if only for a moment. Will wrapped his arms around the other man’s shoulders, one of his hands grabbing and clawing at the back of the neck, acutely aware of Hannibal doing the same to him.

Hannibal was clutching Will tightly now, and his every other breath came out as a harsh gasp. Will’s bad shoulder was hurting in Hannibal’s vice-like grip but he could hardly feel it amidst this maelstrom of sensations. He did notice, however, Hannibal’s injured abdominal muscles beginning to spasm from overexertion. In the back of his mind, Will dimly thought he ought to be worried. Yet his body wouldn't let him stop. It needed more. And, a fragment of him was curious how much Hannibal would be able to endure. The same part that viciously longed to hold some sort of power over Hannibal, a man whose grasp he was absolutely trapped within. A futile reach for the upper hand, Will knew.

His vision was going white as Hannibal pushed harder and faster, deeper and deeper, with less and less rhythm. Will's fingers were curling in Hannibal's heaving chest, clinging for support. He couldn’t hold back the noise that burst from his throat when he came, his spine arching forward, burying his face in the nook between Hannibal’s neck and shoulder. Several seconds later, Hannibal also climaxed in near-silence, his body tightening and shuddering under Will’s. The younger man realized that even in these moments, Hannibal never truly lost control - not really. He orgasmed precisely when he wished to, which seemed to be only after he fully appreciated the sight of Will coming onto his belly.

They were sprawled in Will’s sheets, damp from their efforts. Hannibal's breaths were quick and shallow, one of his hands covering his wounded stomach as he lay on his side, his hooded eyes fixed almost unnervingly on Will.

"You definitely overdid it this time, Hannibal," murmured Will, dazed.

"Perhaps."

"You sure you don't want any Advil?"

"I'm sure," said Hannibal. His speech was becoming difficult to decipher, accent creeping into the words more strongly than usual. “Though I’m quite tired…”

Will laughed. “I wonder why.”

“Mhm.” Hannibal smiled lazily as he turned onto his back, not bothering to conceal the wince that flashed across his face soon after. Will shifted closer to him and put his free arm across his chest, curling up against the other man’s side. He could feel the strong, if still rather erratic, heartbeat against his cheek. Hannibal was tracing gentle circles over the mark his scalpel had left on Will's shoulder; Will's hand, meanwhile, found Hannibal's, and its shortened small finger. A frown formed on his face as he stroked the stump with his thumb. It wasn’t by far a horrific mutilation, but noticeable nevertheless, and from a... _simpler_ time. That one Will had no guilt or remorse for, only pure worry, and anger towards those responsible. He did miss being able to feel that way about Hannibal.

Their shared heat was wonderful to Will, and he breathed deeply through his nose, taking in Hannibal’s distinct musky scent. He may have not possessed his psychiatrist’s heightened olfactory senses but he could recognize it anywhere by now.

“You don’t want a shower?” asked Will, but looking to the side, he saw that Hannibal was asleep. Will took some time to observe him - the planes of his face, the contours of his lean body, the way the brown and silver strands of his hair caught the fading daylight. Though Will could have spent hours where he was, he finally got up to fetch a warm cloth from the bathroom, then proceeded to wipe Hannibal clean, gently as to not wake him. The older man didn’t stir once, his breathing deep and regular despite the angry redness of the wound marring his stomach.

Will showered quickly, and while rubbing his hair dry with a towel, he allowed himself to once again take in the sight of Hannibal stretched out across his bed. A slumbering lion... yet he looked so deceptively harmless. Will loved him for that. Stepping around the dogs scattered through the room, he joined him in the bed and that night, he had no dreams, good or bad.

Hannibal’s condition took a sudden and brief turn for the worse the next day, for obvious reasons. He merely chuckled about it, but he and Will agreed it would be wise to postpone any more sex to a later date.

Eventually, Hannibal declared he judged himself capable of moving back to his own home. He made dinner for two that evening while Will watched. He felt a twinge in his chest when he saw Hannibal’s slightly awkward handling of the knife due to his maimed hand, but the psychiatrist didn’t seem to mind. Still, it was undeniably comforting for Will to see Hannibal in his natural environment again, confident and graceful in his movements.

Hannibal smiled with what resembled reassurance as he set the steaming plate before Will at the table. Will’s hand trembled a little as he took up his cutlery; he didn’t dare let himself ask what meat this was. With a steadying breath, he forked the food into his mouth. It was as delicious as ever, overpowering the queasiness he had initially felt. Nevertheless, it took Will an additional week before he accepted another dinner invitation from Hannibal.

Hannibal recovered enough to begin to see patients again, though it would take more time for him to regain full strength. Will resumed work with the FBI, brushing aside Jack and Alana's suggestions for him to undergo counselling. Life went on, almost the same as it used to be.

But not _quite_ exactly the same. Hannibal invited Will to meals more often than before, and afterwards, they would fuck. When they did, Hannibal allowed Will more glimpses of what resided underneath his very human skin - constant, teasing reminders of his true nature. He would bite and claw, as though he was leaving behind every brushstroke he could on the canvas that was Will’s flesh. Will returned the favour, showing him no mercy. Hannibal didn’t deserve it, nor did he ever desire it. They would fuck like it was their first and last time, just like they had in the concrete room.

* * *

One day like any other, Hannibal offered to go back to Wolf Trap with Will after work and perhaps cook them a simple dinner. The evening passed pleasantly and several hours later, the pair was settled comfortably in Will’s bed proceeding typically aggressive sex that left both partners fatigued. Will awoke in the middle of the night for no apparent reason, and after confirming that Hannibal was asleep next to him, he got up to pour himself a glass of water.

When he returned to bed, Hannibal's position in it was unchanged. The man looked so vulnerable, curled up in his sheets with one of the dogs using his calf as a pillow. _I could kill him right here_ , thought Will abruptly, _while he’s sleeping_. He could be the one to eliminate the Chesapeake Ripper for good. It was tempting, and it always had been, ever since the moment Will first put together the pieces in the concrete room. Was this not as optimal an opportunity as any? Contemplative, Will padded to his bedside drawer and picked up the weighty hunting knife he kept inside. After running a finger along the blade once, he knelt next to the bed, then slowly laid the knife against Hannibal’s exposed throat.

The moment the cold metal touched his skin, Hannibal’s eyes opened like those of a reptilian without warning, mere black slits. They locked with Will’s and an inexplicable fear struck him like a punch to the gut. Why was he afraid? Hannibal was still weak and _naked_ , unarmed, practically harmless the way he was now. Will froze, hardly breathing. Hannibal smirked nearly imperceptibly, then with his eyes closed, tilted his head back ever so slightly - as if daring Will to draw blood. Will’s hand shook. He staggered back and let his arm drop to his side, the energy gone from his limbs. Again his brain was screaming at him to do otherwise, but his heart would not allow him.

Hannibal made a soft sound as he rolled over to the side of the mattress. “Come back to bed, Will,” he mumbled nonchalantly, as if nothing had happened at all.

Will could only obey, knife abandoned on the floor.


End file.
